25
DANE
The bar is closed to the public tonight. Chairs are flipped onto tables, blinds drawn, front door locked with a hand-written sign claimingPrivateEvent. But inside, there's nothing private about what we're planning. This is war, and every man in this dark room has promised to stand beside me as a brother in arms.
I'm speechless.
Varen stands at the head of the main table with a stern look on his face. Around him are the regulars—men who have lived here probably their whole lives and who want the same thing I want. Peace. No one wants this to go down the way we fear it will, but not a single man is backing down.
Sutter's Gap is their home, and when the sheriff gets shot by outsiders, they don't call on more outsiders to solve the crime. They handle it themselves.
I take my seat at the table, but it doesn't feel as real or substantial as it should. Some of these men have given me a hard time every day since I first showed up in this little mountaintown. And I'm positive not a one of them has believed my story about being ex-military. Still, they're here to back me up and I can't take that for granted.
"See what I told you?" Travis slides a beer across the table to me with one eyebrow raised. He did tell me the men of this town would rally, but I didn't believe him until just now.
I leave the beer untouched for now because I need a clear head for this. "I appreciate you all being here. I know this isn't the sort of thing any of you wants to think about this time of year." It's ironic, the festive Christmas decorations Mira's put up in this dank little bar and how they're the polar opposite of what this atmosphere demands. I'm ready to enter the twelve days of vengeance, not some joyous occasion worthy of garland and ribbons.
"Well, you didn't ask for this," Varen cuts in. He's still in his deputy uniform, weapon visible at his hip. "But here we are. So let's figure out how we're going to handle it."
Gideon Strath, the owner of the little grocery story, pulls out a hand-drawn map of the town and spreads it across the table. "Christmas Eve celebration starts at six on the twenty-first. The main event is the tree lighting at eight, followed by carol singing, hot chocolate, the whole production. Ellie estimates at least two hundred people will be there, maybe more if the weather holds."
"Two hundred innocent lives in the town square," I grunt, studying the map. There are too many vulnerabilities—open space, limited cover, multiple entry points. If Cal wants to make a statement, that's where he'll do it. "There'll be kids there?" I ask, meeting Varen's eyes.
His tongue drags across his teeth on the bottom as he repositions his wad of chewing tobacco then sips a beer as he lowers his head. "I've sent word cautiously to everyone not to bring their children for this event… Whether they ignore my warning is up to them, but to the best of my ability, without alerting the men we're hoping to pin down, I've asked them not to come."
"You told them about our concerns?" I ask, and it's Miles who chimes in, clutching his mail carrier cap in his hands and twisting it.
"I hand delivered a message to every family who has a mailbox in this town, Dane. They're smart people." His head bobs in acknowledgement, and I have to trust that they know their people better than anyone.
We spend the next two hours hashing out every single step each of us will take. In order to make it look natural so they don't know we're waiting for them and setting them up, we have to choreograph the entire thing. Who will stand where, when we'll move to make sure everything is coordinated and nothing is left uncovered.
Every man will have a weapon, and those who don't already own one will take a loaner from Travis. And after that incident yesterday with Sloane and the ogre who grabbed her, everyone knows exactly how easily bloodshed can and will happen. These men are as ready as they'll ever be, and even the best training at this point won't help them. They'll either rise to the occasion or they'll falter. And I pray no one gets hurt except Maddox's men.
After forty minutes of shooting the breeze, Varen pulls me to the side and forces a beer into my hands. With the meeting over, I'm more inclined to let my guard down now and relax a little. I'mstarting to fit into this town, even if they are the ones looking more like me than previously.
"Dane, you know I have to ask these questions because they’re gonna come up…" He takes a swig of beer and stares out at the men, now half drunk and shooting pool, throwing darts.
"Go on, then," I tell him, finally having a bit of beer.
"Those packages… These men… You're not ex-military, are you?"
There is a long beat of silence that I purposely let hover between us because I know Varen and his oath to uphold the letter of the law. With the sheriff out, Varen is where the buck stops. If he were to learn of my past, he'd have no choice but to arrest me even if he believes me when I tell him I'm retired. So I say nothing.
"And those men… They really shot Wade, not you?"
"It wasn’t me, Deputy Locke." Another pull of beer and a grunt of approval from the man who could easily throw me behind bars.
"And your past, then? In the city…" He stays staring over the crowd, and I can only tell him the truth.
"I'm not that man anymore." The beer is cold as I slurp it down and Varen's nod, the way he tips his hat at Miles as the mailman slips out the door to head home, tells me he's not going to pry. I've left almost no evidence at all, and if they tried to piece it together, they'd have a very difficult time pinning anything on me anyway.
But I can't say never.
"Well, then, I hope you have a nice evening." Varen walks away, and I've had enough. It's a delicate dance between criminal andlaw man, and I know when to bow out. So I head out the door into the cold night, watching over my shoulder with every step.
My phone rings as I'm halfway to Ellie's and it's an unknown number I answer cautiously.
"Dane… It's Jason."
